"Size."
"Eleven cruiser-class, thirty-seven frigate-class."
In response to Dorn's query, his adjutant Rahn answered swiftly.
The Inwit Empire lacked interstellar communication; information between worlds relied entirely on courier ships. Thus, Dorn knew nothing of the local battle situation before arriving at Reach.
To his surprise, upon entering the Reach system, they encountered another human fleet. This fleet clearly did not belong to the Inwit Empire; it must be outsiders. Dorn's knowledge of other human interstellar empires in the galaxy was limited to the Imperium of Man.
As Caelan had said, Imperial ships had a distinct design language, easily recognizable. Their regular geometric structures and unique brutalist aesthetic stood out prominently among the stars.
The other fleet showed no hostility, instead taking the initiative to open communication channels, signaling peaceful contact. In the face of such goodwill, Dorn naturally wouldn't stand on ceremony.
He stepped forward steadily, standing before the holographic projection. Even through the comms, his towering figure radiated an undeniable authority, yet his tone remained appropriately calm:
"I am Rogal Dorn."
...
When the communication link was established, a giant as majestic as a mountain suddenly appeared in the holographic projection. His upright figure almost filled the entire comms screen. His noble and commanding presence was unmistakable even through the projection. Around him, the mortal officers appeared tiny, overshadowed like shrubs beneath a giant tree.
The contrast was so stark that Lord Commander Love held his breath the moment he saw the image. The giant in the projection inclined his head slightly. When he spoke, his deep, resonant voice made Love tremble:
"I am Rogal Dorn, Emperor of the Inwit Empire, Primarch, Son of Caelan, Son of the Emperor."
This brief self-introduction was like a boulder thrown into a calm lake, sending ripples through the Imperial fleet.
Even if he hadn't spoken, Love would have guessed his identity. He was too big! In the galaxy, besides the gene-primarchs, who else could possess such an extraordinary physique?
Though Love was not an Astartes, as Lord Commander of an Expeditionary Fleet, he had been fortunate enough to glimpse several Primarchs from afar during parades. But this giant's impact on him now was far greater. The unexpected surprise left his mind blank. The feeling of personally discovering a lost Primarch was completely different from merely being presented to one!
Love felt his heart pounding in his chest. "I have found a lost Primarch!"
This realization struck his nerves like lightning. Though his reason told him to salute immediately, the immense shock momentarily robbed him of physical control.
Seeing this, his aide discreetly nudged Love, snapping him out of his stupor.
Love quickly composed himself, took a deep breath, and saluted the giant in the hologram with his right fist to his chest.
"My Lord," Love bowed his head slightly, his voice trembling with excitement yet maintaining absolute deference, "Eugen Love, Lord Commander of the 7741st Expeditionary Fleet, salutes you!"
"We came to negotiate peacefully with the Inwit Empire. We have been fighting to defend Reach for forty-seven days. Now, please take command!"
"Lord Commander Love, your defense has bought Reach its survival."
"It is your unwavering resolve and that of your warriors that has spared this planet from falling. I will remember this achievement."
Love immediately straightened, puffing out his chest like a soldier undergoing inspection. "My Lord, it was our duty."
"If our sacrifice buys more lives, then it is not in vain."
"Please give your orders. The 7741st Expeditionary Fleet is ready to fight for you, to the last soldier!"
As he spoke, Love's gaze remained fixed on the Primarch. He noticed a flicker of almost imperceptible approval cross Dorn's stern face. For a mortal commander, this was the highest honor!
Dorn asked, "Lord Commander Love, how goes the battle for Reach?"
Love straightened his back. "My Lord, the Ork assault is fierce, but the defensive line still holds."
"Mortal Auxilia casualties are nearly half. The line is currently maintained by four hundred and twenty thousand militia and seventy thousand regular troops."
"However, the 7232nd Expeditionary Fleet will reach Reach orbit in three hours. Twenty Auxilia regiments are about to join the fight!"
...
Dorn carefully reviewed the battle reports from the Expeditionary Fleet, his gaze repeatedly tracing over the holographic tactical map.
"Order all fleets to establish a defensive line as planned."
"Inform the Imperial commanders that we need to form a joint command to coordinate all combat forces."
Caelan suggested, "I didn't expect the Imperial fleet to be here either, but they've come just in time. Should we adjust our established tactics?"
Dorn responded solemnly, "The tactics remain unchanged. We must pin the main Ork force down at Reach and engage them in a prolonged war of attrition."
Caelan said, "But the Ork Warboss is very cunning. The Imperium hasn't been able to locate it. Without a 'head,' how do you decapitate?"
His planned war of attrition wasn't about feeding endless lives into the grinder, which would only lead to an endless stalemate. The Orks' astonishing reproductive rate and their tendency to grow stronger the more they fight meant a simple delaying tactic would only worsen the situation. They had to decapitate the Ork Warboss.
Attrition was the broad strategic policy; decapitation was the specific tactical execution. Anyone fighting Orks, even the Tyranids, also known for human wave tactics, would attempt to decapitate the Warboss. Abandoning decapitation and relying solely on human wave attrition would likely fail even for the Tyranids.
Ork society relies heavily on the rule of Warbosses and other high-ranking Orks. When a Warboss dies, the Orks descend into chaos and immediately begin endless infighting until a new Warboss emerges from the struggle. If a new Warboss can be swiftly decapitated each time it appears, the Orks revert to disorderly chaos. These greenskins would lose unified command, fail to mount effective offenses, and struggle to pose a real threat to the defenders.
Dorn needed precisely this kind of low-intensity attrition. While passive, it was the safest option under the current circumstances. Sacrifice an agri-world for space and time, buying strategic security for the entire Inwit Empire.
His original plan was merely a delaying tactic, buying time for the Jokaeros to restore the Phalanx. But now, there was a new development. As long as they could hold out until the main Imperial fleet arrived, the Ork threat would be solved!
"Here."
Dorn's finger landed on the holographic tactical map. "The mortal Auxiliaries are correct. The Warboss is hiding in this forest!"
Although the cunning greenskin Warboss had been deliberately concealing its movements, by analyzing key operational elements like Ork tactics, force deployment, and attack directions, one could trace a clear logical chain on the tactical map, ultimately pointing to a single coordinate.
The mortal Auxiliaries had already sent several kill teams into the forest. As long as one of them could pinpoint the Warboss's exact location, they could sound the counter-offensive.
Dorn ordered, "Rahn, have the assault teams proceed to the flight deck and stand by for immediate deployment!"
Though he had never met these mortals and likely never would, Dorn trusted them to fulfill their mission.
...
Diaz slowly raised his arm, signaling the squad to halt.
The squad immediately dispersed and concealed itself, blending silently into the forest's shadows.
Through his tactical visor's magnification, Diaz could clearly observe the Ork camp a hundred meters away. There were several Nobs there, their bodies noticeably larger than ordinary Ork Boyz, their crude armor marked with battle dents and bloodstains. These Nobs were roaring and fighting each other out of boredom, occasionally breaking into cheerful "WAAAGH!" cries.
"Target confirmed, Ork Nobs, count six." Diaz lowered his voice on the encrypted channel. "According to the tactical database, this size of escort usually means the Warboss is within a one-kilometer radius."
Nobs were mid-level officers and the Warboss's bodyguards. These powerful Orks wouldn't gather without reason. The Warboss was definitely nearby!
Sergeant Avery questioned, "Can we bypass the camp?"
"I doubt it." Diaz quickly checked his visor's augur data. "The scan shows a closed valley behind the camp. The cogitator places the probability of the Warboss hiding there at 87.6%. To reach the valley, we must go through the camp."
Sergeant Avery ordered, "Prepare for assault. Each squad, report ammunition status by operational sequence."
"Diaz Squad, standard ammunition 43%, melta remaining 73%."
"Olson Squad, standard ammunition 38%, plasma remaining 58%."
"Montoia Squad, standard ammunition 49%, incendiary remaining 79%."
On Sergeant Avery's tactical panel, the real-time status of the three squads blinked green confirmation signals. He quickly assessed the battlefield and formulated a tactical plan:
"Delta assault formation. Diaz Squad will lead the frontal assault. Olson Squad provides suppressing fire on the left flank. Montoia Squad conducts precision strikes on the right flank."
"Repeat mission priority, Our primary objective is to confirm the Warboss's coordinates!"
"Countdown, 30 seconds."
Sergeant Avery murmured, "For Humanity."
"For the Emperor!" Thirty low voices echoed on the channel.
They could transmit the coordinates now. 87.6% was already high. An orbital strike had an impact diameter of at least ten kilometers; a slight error wouldn't prevent decapitation. But they had to personally confirm the Warboss's location to ensure no mistake.
Bang!
A crimson laser beam precisely pierced the skull of an Ork sentry on the camp's perimeter. The acrid smell of burning flesh filled the air. The headless greenskin crashed to the ground. Other soldiers opened fire simultaneously. A dense hail of laser beams wove a death net.
Each crimson beam found its mark. Some pierced Ork necks; others vaporized their ugly, ferocious faces.
An Ork Nob in the center of the camp let out an excited "WAAAGH!" Its scarred green body surged upright, its form, larger than an Astartes, shoving aside Boyz blocking its path.
Bang!
A laser hit the Nob in the chest, burning through its crude metal breastplate but only leaving a blackened scorch mark on its thick green hide. A single lasgun shot could kill a Boy, but a Nob required more efficient firepower.
"WAAAGH!" The Nob grew even more excited, raising its modified shoota. The muzzle spat dirty flame, spewing a stream of bullets with a deafening roar.
But the Nob's excitement was short-lived. A searing thermal beam punched through its chest the next moment. Its malformed heart vaporized in the heat. The massive body stumbled and fell, collapsing half a tent.
But the greenskin's tenacious vitality kept it twitching. Diaz rolled close in a tactical maneuver, pressing his plasma pistol against the Nob's head.
Crack!
A blinding blue light engulfed the ugly face, vaporizing the Ork's head and ending its abominable life.
Everyone in the kill team knew this might be their last battle; there was no need to conserve ammunition.
Crimson laser beams, like a scythe of death, mowed down Ork lives, causing a bloodbath in the camp. Each precise beam easily pierced Ork Boyz' rough hide and crude iron armor, reducing their ugly bodies to charred remains. Nobs fell one after another, their massive forms slamming into the ground, raising clouds of dust.
However, the cost of victory was equally heavy.
There were simply too many Orks. Solar-pattern Void Armor's was ultimately inferior to Astartes power armor, unable to withstand the Orks' hailstorm of bullets. Soldiers fell continuously amidst the "WAAAGH!" cries, their bodies shredded by the Orks' crudely made bullets. Their armor attempted futile self-repair, but blood and viscera already seeped through the gaps.
But the sacrifice was worth it.
As the final defensive line was breached, they successfully massacred the Ork camp. The surviving soldiers quickly formed a ring defense. Sergeant Avery hadn't even had time to formulate a new plan when they heard a deafening roar.
"WAAAGH!"
"Ummies! Ya fell inta a trap, ya git! I'm gonna blast ya ta bitz"
The five-meter-tall monster stood at the valley's entrance. Its mere presence was a suffocating oppression. Its identity as the Warboss was unmistakable!
Before Avery could order it, the comms specialist, waiting in the rear, had already decisively pressed the send key, transmitting their coordinates to the fleet in orbit.
"WAAAGH!"
Hundreds of Boyz and Nobs surged from either side of the Warboss. Sergeant Avery issued his final command.
"Free fire!"
As they engaged in the chaotic melee, an encrypted pulse signal had already pierced the forest, streaking towards the sky. The fleet in orbit would receive the coordinates within a minute. The orbital strike would annihilate all life within ten kilometers.
When an Ork's choppa whistled down, Diaz caught the blow, strong enough to cleave him in two, with his rifle barrel. Sparks flew. He twisted his wrist, plunging his bayonet into the Ork's neck. Hot green blood sprayed over Diaz, but he had no time to avoid it. Another Ork was lunging from the flank. The Sergeant-Major spun and fired, his shot piercing the second Ork's forehead, blowing its head apart, vaporizing its brain.
Soon after, the fleet entered Reach's orbit and adjusted its firing angle, aiming at the coordinates.
BOOM!
A blinding beam descended from the heavens like a sword of judgment, piercing the clouds and targeting the Ork camp.
But just as this destructive orbital strike was about to deliver its verdict...
HUM!
A green energy barrier suddenly deployed, like an invisible dome, covering the entire forest. The orbital bombardment crackled against the barrier's surface, throwing off dazzling sparks, but never penetrating the defense.
"WAAAGH!"
The Warboss let out a triumphant laugh. "Oi, ya puny ummie gona cry! Har har har"
Avery's breath caught behind his faceplate. He finally understood why the Warboss had remained hidden. These greenskin bastards had secretly developed force field technology!
This meant the Sword of Damocles hanging over the Orks' heads, the orbital strike, had now lost all deterrent power.
The situation was deteriorating in the worst possible way. Without orbital bombardment cover, the endless Ork hordes would overrun the mortal Auxiliaries' ground lines in less than a week! The decapitation strike had failed.
"No, it's not over yet!"
Avery tore off his shattered faceplate, shattered by shoota fire. His voice, thick with saliva and blood, exploded on the squad channel.
"All surviving units, converge on my position! We have one last chance!"
They were still alive. They still had a chance to decapitate the Warboss. If the Warboss died, the Orks would be leaderless! Even if the Orks had shield technology, Avery believed Gutierrez would send another kill team to destroy it!
"Victory belongs to Humanity!"
Even though the Auxiliaries held a defensible camp, casualties were still two-thirds. Eleven surviving soldiers tried to fight their way toward Sergeant Avery, but the Orks had already completely encircled and divided them. Only four had made it to him, while three others provided cover from higher ground. Between them and the Warboss stood over twenty Nobs and hundreds of Boyz.
Just as Sergeant Avery was about to lead his remaining troops in a final charge, a burst of static came over the comm channel. Diaz heard a deep voice:
"I am Primarch Rogal Dorn. We will arrive in one minute. Hold your position!"
'A Primarch had come to rescue them personally?' This realization made Diaz's face flush with excitement. "Received, my Lord! We will hold until the last moment!"
...
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